


Too Much is Never Enough

by countingpaths



Series: Baby Artemis Adventures [1]
Category: Artemis Fowl - Eoin Colfer
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Pre-Canon, baby Artemis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:40:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26136667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countingpaths/pseuds/countingpaths
Summary: Domovoi makes a twenty-four hour trip to be there for the first night of his principal's life. One does not form an emotional attachment to the principal, but he cannot help but admire the infant's tenacity.
Relationships: Domovoi Butler & Artemis Fowl II
Series: Baby Artemis Adventures [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1911325
Comments: 12
Kudos: 77





	Too Much is Never Enough

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote the first half of this for myself and it happened to fit one of the prompts for Fowl Fest 2020's fanfic day, so I wrote the second half to fulfill another prompt. The prompts were "a character's best day ever" and "Artemis, what are you thinking about?" I worked on it only in the middle of the night and I was rushing to complete it in time (I didn't) so forgive all mistakes, weird choppy writing, etc etc. I just love Butler and Artemis so much.  
> Also, the title means nothing, this didn't have a title until just now. I just named it after the Florence + the Machine song because I listened to it a ton while writing and ao3 wanted a title :) I also listened to All This and Heaven Too, Yellow by Coldplay, Blanket Me by Hundred Waters, Shadow and Keeping Your Head Up by Birdy, and The Emotion by Borns.
> 
> Also OTWD readers if you're seeing this I'm sorry! I'm still on hiatus, I just had to write this oneshot! Hopefully I can return to regular updates soon :)

Domovoi Butler was on an assignment with the french military, deep in the jungles of Laos, when the call came. It was two weeks too early, but Domovoi was not entirely surprised. This Fowl was to be an overachiever, then. They tended to be. Wiping the sweat from his brow and holstering his rifle, he sat back in the small camouflaged tent that clung to the side of the mountain, which overlooked a dirt road through thick foliage on which his rifle had been trained for the past 24 hours. He fished the vibrating phone from his velcroed pocket and eyed it for a brief moment, feeling slightly nervous in a way that he had not experienced since entering Madame Ko’s final exam at age eighteen, nearly a decade ago. He pushed the feeling down, steeling himself as a soldier does, and flipped the phone open.

“There is a pilot waiting for you at Tân Sơn Nhất International,” Madame Ko’s voice said, stern and steady. Another surprise--he had been expecting the Major. “He will fly you to Hong Kong. From there you’ll be flown to Heathrow, where a Cessna will take you to an airstrip outside of Dublin. A car will be waiting to deliver you to the Mater. Got it?”

“Affirmative,” Domovoi confirmed, already reaching for his radio.

“Congratulations.” The phone clicked as she hung up and Domovoi returned it to his pocket.

“What’s that?” asked the man next to him, a Laotian officer by the name of Kham. 

“Water broke,” Domovoi stated, which wasn’t really an explanation at all.

“Ahh, fatherhood,” Kham said, reaching up to pat the large Eurasian man’s shoulder. “Congratulations.”

Domovoi nodded tersely and did not correct the man’s assumption. There was no point. Instead, he radioed base camp and prepared for the two hour hike down the mountain.

It was nearly five in the morning when he reached the secret base camp. Despite this, Domovoi was hustled out of the jungle in a blacked out Jeep, along with four Laotian secret officers armed with AK-47s. Two hours later he was in the passenger seat of a small military aircraft, watching the dark jungle disappear underneath him. And nearly five hours after that, he was boarding a commercial flight in the bustling city of Hong Kong, having traded his black military cargos and rifle for a crisp black suit and no gun at all--he could not afford the time a concealed weapon could cost him. Had it been September 15th, Domovoi would have been at the manor, teaching his feisty little sister how to pull off a perfect, if theatrical, roundhouse kick. Instead, he was settling in for a thirteen hour flight back in time, crammed between a window and a balding man whose nose was buried in a mystery novel. _I should enjoy this,_ he thought. _Probably my last commercial flight for a long time._ He would be stuck at the manor for years, and even once the principal was grown, the Fowls were not fond of commercial jets. Domovoi himself would likely be piloting their personal Learjet in no time. 

He gazed out the window as the plane left the large city behind. The anxious feeling had returned to his stomach. Domovoi was not accustomed to his nerves holding such sway over him--it made him uneasy. The principal was not even born yet, and he was already showing inefficiency as a bodyguard. A nervous bodyguard was a distracted bodyguard. 

He had served much riskier principals in his time. The disgustingly rich minor royalty type, usually the Monaco crowd, and he had been the most efficient in the field. But _this_ principal was different--this was the assignment that Domovoi had been preparing for his entire life. The years training with Madame Ko, the years of espionage and contracted military work, all the bodyguarding jobs. Along with becoming, perhaps, one of the most dangerous men alive, Domovoi had trained in the culinary arts and gained every skill necessary for the care of a young principal. He was entirely prepared for this job. His final job. Or at least, it would be if he did it well. 

“Nervous flier?” the balding man asked. Domovoi pulled his gaze from the window, which had filled with white clouds anyway. Usually his height and sheer bulk discouraged small talk, but this man had been working up the confidence for awhile, judging by the quick glances he’d been taking for the past fifteen minutes. 

“No. Why do you ask?” he asked, gaze sweeping the plane almost imperceptibly, as he had been doing regularly since the flight had departed.

“You’ve been tapping your knee,” the man pointed out with a slight smirk, lowering his mystery novel. He was English, a Londoner by the accent. Clearly, he was proud of having picked up a thing or two from Christie. 

Domovoi snorted softly and stopped tapping. “Actually, I’m on my way to a delivery. And I’m a bit more nervous than I expected to be,” he confided sheepishly. Small talk wouldn’t hurt. 

“All the way from Hong Kong to London?” The Englishman whistled appreciatively. “Quite the last minute flight.”

“Indeed,” Domovoi agreed. “I don’t want to be late.”

The man chuckled. “I was late for one of ‘em and I’ve never heard the end of it. Congratulations, though--do you know the gender?”

“Yes--a boy.” Domovoi had known this, of course, for a few months. Artemis had told him when he’d spent a week at the manor between assignments, ensuring that their nursery and security system--and the entire property, for that matter--were as secure as could be before setting off for Laos. They had been, but he would still be checking again. Regardless, he had not begun thinking of the principal as a boy. That fact was unimportant, as was the fact that Domovoi already knew what the name was to be. _One does not form an emotional attachment to the principal._

“Ah, wonderful! First one?” 

Domovoi nodded slightly. A correction would be useless, as he could not disclose the nature of his assignment. Assumptions were better. 

The man shook his head jovially, wearing at the corner of his bookmarked page. “Man, good for you. I’m a father to three boys, they’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

The nearly one-sided conversation was interrupted by a flight attendant bringing around hot meals, which they both declined. Then the man thankfully returned to his novel, allowing Domovoi to close his eyes and meditate in preparation for a nap. Sleeping on commercial flights did not come naturally to a man who had trained to be awake for forty-eight hours without side effects, but he had been awake for over twenty-four hours already and needed to be fully alert for the first night of his assignment. In addition to staying awake, Domovoi had also trained to fall asleep quickly to take advantage of the short rest periods he did take. Thus, the meditation had him quickly slipping into sleep. 

Thirteen hours later, Domovoi arrived at Heathrow, where a cab was waiting to deliver him to a private airstrip and an awaiting Cessna. He flew it himself, making what was likely a record time across the Irish Sea. This was entirely legal, according to any official documents, as he had already been cleared for the flight by a few of the Fowl’s connections. He landed outside of Dublin at approximately 8:15pm on September 1st, nearly twenty-four hours after receiving the call at 3:00am on September 1st in Indochina Time. A hummer transferred him to the Mater, the large hospital on the northside of Dublin where Angeline Fowl was still in delivery. The driver dropped him in front of the main doors and Domovoi dashed inside, surprising a family waiting for a cab with both his size and agility. 

Behind a desk inside the entrance, the redheaded receptionist raised an eyebrow at him. “Can I help you?”

“Could you direct me to the Fowls?” he asked, polite but curt. 

“Hmm--they’re in delivery, but--” she was interrupted by the arrival of a nurse.

“Mr. Butler? Please follow me.” He nodded and thanked the receptionist, relieved that he would not have to force the information from her in a less savory way, which he was nearly likely to do given the unfamiliar anxious buzzing in his stomach. The nurse seemed to have been informed of the situation, and there was no missing a giant Eurasian man bounding into the lobby.

She led him to the Sisters of Mercy maternity ward in the eastern wing of the building. “Here you are. It’s the room at the end there, with the man outside.”

“Ah, I see,” Domovoi said. The Major stood alert outside a door at the far end of the hallway. Domovoi thanked the nurse and hurried to greet his waiting uncle. 

“Evening, Major,” he saluted as he approached. The large man smiled, which was rare and usually indicated to the person on the receiving end that they were about to be extremely sorry. That was not the case, this time.

“Dom!” he barked, and Domovoi winced at the use of his nickname. First names were private once a Butler graduated the academy, but old habits die hard with family. The Major was the same size as Domovoi, well over six foot, but he was more European in appearance. His gray hair had once been a light blond, and his icy blue eyes were fearsome. He had served Artemis since he’d been born, on a day Domovoi imagined had been very much like this one. 

The Major pulled his nephew into a crushing hug, which was even more surprising from the veteran than a smile. “You made it just in time,” the older man said, returning to business as he released his slightly winded nephew. “Had me worried for a minute there. Of all the countries to be stranded in on a short notice, Laos? What a f--”

An agonized scream rang from beyond the door, obscuring the Major’s potentially foul language, and Domovoi’s eyebrows furrowed with concern. “Is everything alright?” he asked.

The Major chuckled. “Oh, yeah. She does that every few minutes now. That’s how they know he’s close. Artemis is in there with a doctor and three nurses. All we can do is wait.”

Domovoi pitied the poor woman. He distracted himself by scanning the corridor and making note of cameras, safety exits, which rooms were occupied, and any potential security threats. He did not doubt their safety, as the Major had surely secured the wing, but it was important that Domovoi catalogue the information himself. Important for his own principal’s safety.

They waited for twenty minutes, the silence between them punctuated by Angeline’s wails, until a great deal of commotion occurred beyond the door. After a moment that felt like an eternity, the door opened and a nurse poked her head out, glancing at the wall clock in the corridor. “Eight fifty-nine,” she called back. “He’s just been born,” she informed the two men who waited patiently outside, before swiftly retreating back into the room. 

“Congratulations,” the Major said, patting Domovoi’s back.

Domovoi listened closely, straining to make out the conversation within. It took all of his restraint not to burst into the room and check his principal over right then, but he didn’t think Angeline would appreciate the intrusion.

“Shouldn’t he be crying?” asked Artemis’s distinct, clipped voice.

“Oh, some don’t. We cleaned his airways out, so he’s breathing fine. He might go off once he’s dry,” answered a woman, presumably the doctor. 

Sure enough, no cries were to be heard. It was nearly thirty minutes before the final nurse vacated the room, and Artemis emerged.

“Ah, you’re here,” Artemis smiled. “Excellent. Go on and meet him.” The man looked exhausted and in need of a shave, but he held himself as confidently as ever, a familiar look of pride settling into the light lines of his face.

Domovoi nodded and ducked into the dim maternity room, allowing the door to shut between him and the men in the hallway. Angeline was asleep, completely drained of color. Somehow her blowout had managed to survive the ordeal, and her golden locks curled around her like a halo. Near her bedside was a bassinet. He approached slowly, with near reluctance. He had been waiting for this moment for as long as he could remember. To meet the principal to whom he would devote the remainder of his life. With a deep breath, he peered into the bassinet.

The baby was curled within. He was smaller than Domovoi had imagined--the tall man could’ve held him with one hand. A shock of black hair made his soft rosy skin appear pale in comparison. 

Domovoi felt an overwhelming amount of emotion. A surge of affection for his tiny principal made its way to his chest. He had not experienced something like this in his career, in all of his bodyguard jobs. This kind of devotion. The nerves were gone, replaced by a heavy surety that he would do his job well.

“Hello, Artemis,” he said softly, leaning over the bassinet. The baby shifted, bundled within a dark blue blanket, but did not begin to fuss. “You can call me Butler. I’m going to be protecting you from now on.” 

He watched the baby for a moment longer, marveling at his tiny features. Then he straightened up and scanned the room, assessing its security and the child’s safety. Butler stood guard over Artemis for the rest of the night, even when Artemis Senior returned.  
\--

It was only a few weeks before the Fowls began to realize that their baby was not quite normal. He never cried, for one thing, and rarely fussed, as long as nothing was done to offend him. Artemis was surprisingly opinionated for an infant, which Butler suspected was simply a Fowl trait. Artemis Senior saw this as a sign of intelligence, and was quite pleased. Angeline, on the other hand, felt distressed by his lack of infantile antics. Butler was not concerned. Why would Artemis cry? His every need was quickly met, often before the baby could begin to complain. Two nannies cared for him, one in the morning and the other in the evening. Between their shifts was a window of time in the dead of night when Butler had sole responsibility for the child. The bodyguard rarely slept--only enough to ensure he was fully capable of doing his job efficiently--but this was not too difficult. He had endured conditions far worse than a nursery. And besides, he was incredibly fond of Artemis. The affection and devotion that Butler had felt for the tiny child on that first night in the hospital never wavered. If anything, it grew stronger with each night spent by his side in the dark nursery within Fowl Manor.

Butler was standing guard in the nursery while the morning nanny finished up her shift. She glanced at him nervously while Artemis finished his bottle, still intimidated by the giant man who silently guarded the room, even after weeks in the family’s service. Butler thought he might look over her background once more--both nannies had been hand-picked from a network of elite caregivers, and had passed thorough background checks, but it couldn’t hurt to be sure.

She finished up quickly and placed Artemis in his crib, where he spent most of his time. Butler had taken to carrying the baby around, when appropriate, to give him a change in scenery. He would also occasionally allow him to lay, with his toys and supervision, on the plush nursery carpet. Angeline did not think the floor was any place for a child, but the bodyguard could see that Artemis was desperate to begin crawling, and she did not notice the occasional floor time over the security camera. Most babies did not reach the crawling milestone until six months, but Artemis was not most babies. He had already begun to talk in his own babbling infant language, which made him very easy to work with. He refused to cry when he awoke hungry at night, and would instead rant at Butler until the bodyguard provided him with a warm bottle. It was a very efficient method of communication, in Butler’s opinion. 

He paced around the parameter of the room, checking the window, from which he could see the gates opening to allow the morning nurse’s car to leave. The evening nurse would arrive in about fifteen minutes. 

“Butler,” Angeline’s voice buzzed over the nursery’s intercom, “could you bring Artemis to the sitting room? And dress him up, perhaps the blue sweater?” 

The bodyguard sighed. Angeline had returned the previous evening from a trip with her husband, who had stayed abroad for business. Now she was entertaining a few high class friends who no doubt wanted to handle and poke at Artemis. The madam’s insistence on showing her baby off to her friends, many of whom were wives of Artemis Senior’s local associates, did not make the bodyguard’s job any easier. 

He crossed to the crib, where Artemis appeared to be studying his own fingers. His initial shock of black hair had shed, and was regrowing wispily. Combined with the serious expression on his cherubic face, Artemis resembled a balding businessman. The baby glanced up when his bodyguard’s giant frame eclipsed the chandelier-like light fixture. 

“Learning to count, are you?” Butler asked jokingly. Artemis cooed and lifted his pudgy arms up, which was his way of asking to be picked up.

“Apologies, Artemis,” the bodyguard said, complying with the request. “I’m afraid you’re not going to enjoy this.”

They switched a onesie for Angeline’s favorite outfit, a light blue sweater with a mock collar and light brown baby slacks. Butler even wrangled poor Artemis into socks and ridiculous brown baby loafers. “Hm. You look ready for networking,” he informed the infant, who frowned at his shoes but did not complain. 

The bodyguard then carried Artemis down to the sitting room, where Angeline was showing three well-dressed women the professional photos she had bought of Artemis. Acquiring the photos had been a whole affair, with an expensive photographer and his entire team of assistants spending all morning the previous week trying to coax a smile from the stern baby. They had been largely unsuccessful, save for a few sweet shots of the mother and child looking at each other adoringly. These were the photos she was showing off now. 

“Oh, here he is!” Angeline announced when Butler entered, cradling tiny Artemis against his broad shoulder. “Come here, dear.”

The bodyguard transferred the child to his mother’s arms as the other women eyed him, startled by the imposing man whom the Fowls employed to guard their child. 

“Don’t mind me, ladies,” he said smoothly, returning to the doorway to watch. Sure enough, they quickly forgot he was there. Despite his size, the Eurasian man had a knack for going unnoticed by the people who employed him. That was not a unique talent--ask anybody who worked in upper class households, such as the nannies, and they would say the same.

Angeline passed Artemis around the group, causing the baby to frown with displeasure at being handled so indelicately. Butler watched them like a hawk, ensuring that none of the women were planted to dispose of the Fowl heir. That may seem melodramatic, but he had seen more insidious plots in his time in Monaco, against families with much less wealth and power than the Fowls.

“Aw, he’s so serious,” one of the women cooed at a rumpled Artemis in the high-pitched voice reserved for babies and dogs. Angeline shifted uncomfortably.

“Timmy believes it is a sign of heightened intellectual abilities,” she said, seemingly in defense of the child. “He’s quite advanced--he already tries to speak.”

The ladies oohed and ahhed and tried to get Artemis to baby talk with them. The baby ignored them and turned his head as much as he could, supported as he was by a stranger’s hand, seemingly looking around the room. Artemis found Butler’s own watchful gaze, and watched him back with deep blue eyes that were far too aware for an infant. 

_Oh, little Artemis,_ the bodyguard thought, admiring the baby’s intelligent eyes. _What are you thinking about?_

A one sided game of peek-a-boo had begun, and Artemis shifted to look at the woman who was covering her face. He did not laugh when she pulled her hands away and squealed, “peek-a-boo!” In fact, after watching her do this twice, the baby took pity on the woman and reached up, removing her hands from her face and staring at her quizzically. He babbled softly in his light voice, as if inquiring about the purpose of such a ridiculous exercise. Even Angeline laughed at this, and Butler suspected that Artemis had a slightly better grasp on object permanence than most infants.

“He’s too smart for that game!” Angeline bragged. The peek-a-boo player sighed.

“Fine,” she said, grinning impishly at the baby. “You’ve forced my hand!”

And then she began to tickle his belly.

Butler knew what was going to happen before Angeline did. Artemis’s face scrunched up, in what his mother likely assumed was the precursor to laughter. But rather than producing a smile and sweet baby giggles, Artemis began to wail.

He had only cried a few times before, and never loudly, but this was the howling of a baby who refused to suffer any more indignities at the hands of his mother’s friends. Simply put, it was unbearable.

“Oh, Arty!” Angeline gasped, pulling him into her arms. She bounced him against her shoulder, with no idea what else to do. “Shh, Artemis, please stop,” she pleaded. “He’s never done this before,” she told her friends, eyes wide. The upset baby continued to bawl, and Angeline looked to Butler for help. 

“Can you take him back upstairs? Give him a bottle?” she asked. The bodyguard nodded and stepped forward, taking the baby from his blushing mother. Butler held the baby against his shoulder, wincing at the shrieking that assaulted his ears. Artemis’s cries quieted as Butler climbed the stairs, fading to a discontent whimpering. 

“That was pretty dreadful, wasn’t it?” the bodyguard asked, rubbing the baby’s back softly. His deep baritone voice distracted Artemis, who finally fell silent as Butler stepped into the nursery. 

“There you go,” Butler said. “Nobody will poke at you anymore. Let’s get those loafers off.”

Soon, Artemis was back in a more infant-friendly onesie, and Butler returned him to his crib, pulling a quilted blanket into the baby’s hands for him to inspect. It was a gorgeous hand-me-down, handmade by some long gone great-grandmother, with knots and fairies embroidered in golden thread on every panel. Butler glanced out the window, where the evening nanny’s car was coming up the driveway, and back down at Artemis, who was gazing at the golden fairy bunched between his hands. 

The entire tickling incident had reminded Butler of a game he had played with his baby sister when she was still an infant, back when he only had brief visits with his family between assignments. Now she was four, and would karate chop his arm nearly hard enough to fracture the bone if he so much as poked her. _But maybe…_

Butler reached back into the crib and softly brushed the baby’s nose. Artemis looked up from his blanket sharply, eyes wide. When no frown or wail followed, Butler continued, only lightly tickling the baby’s tiny nose. It was akin to tickling someone with a feather, rather than the violent prodding of determined belly tickles. Sure enough, Artemis could not help but giggle sweetly. The action even seemed to surprise the baby, who quickly composed himself and frowned. At his dour expression, Butler could not help but laugh. 

“Forgive me, Artemis,” he chuckled, picking the sullen baby up once more to give him an apologetic cuddle. “I admire your tenacity.” The cuddles were not very professional, but it made them both happy. Artemis was returned to his crib and his bodyguard was stationed by the window, both wearing their usual severe expressions, by the time the evening nurse reached the room.


End file.
